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LGBTQ activism has always been an issue close to my heart. Though I am heterosexual, I am a proud and outspoken ally. And that is why me and my twelve loudest friends have chosen to have my bachelorette party at this crowded gay bar during pride weekend.

I, Plain Girl™, have entered into a relationship with the new love of my life and senior problem drinker, Doyle Flannigan. I think what attracted him to me was the fact that I'm not plastic and have a pulse, though I don’t mean to be presumptuous.

Yes, it is I, Victoria van der William Tudor III, the ultimate final woman, here to grace this campus with my humble worldview. After serving an 8-month long sentence at San Quentin Penitentiary (the reason is not important), I have determined that it is prison, and not The Bee, that is the ultimate final club.

Sing, Fates! Sing what will become of those most esteemed members of the Delphic!

The gods on Olympus have blessed our club with the all the will of Zeus himself, that most high and hallowed king before which even the board of the Harvard Financial Analysts Club must kneel. Fortune beyond compare, even to all the gold in the wondrous halls of Crete, is theirs for the taking for those sophomores who do not take issue with using an atmosphere of exclusivity to attract unsuspecting women.

I love my body. I love health. Having relationships, communication, is a healthy thing. When I got back to my room mid-January, though, my floor was deserted and I might as well have been the only person on Earth. But when I popped open the unplugged MicroFridge to find an unopened Chobani I myself had cruelly deserted, then decided to peel back the crusty-curded aluminum and snag a whiff, I knew I had struck an opportunity.

Tweet tweet. That’s right. It’s me, motherfucker. You know every time your mom has told you, “a little birdy told me” followed by some random messed up shit that you’ve done? That’s me, bitch. Big or small, life-threatening or otherwise, I will find out anything and everything that you have done wrong. In fact, my sole purpose in life is to keep your mom updated on all the reasons she should be disappointed in you. Room’s a mess? She knows. C on your midterm? She’s aware. One night stand with that boy Brad from the Alpha Chi Party? She’s on the phone with his mom right now.

CAMBRIDGE, MA -- Listen, I’ve ridden elevators hundreds of times, and never have I given it a second thought. I shuffle in, press the button for the thirteenth floor, stare at my shoes for 45 seconds, and go on my merry way.

But yesterday, in William James, everything changed when I noticed a smoky, disembodied voice coming from the corner -- an amorous timbre that set my heart aflame. It was an uneventful ride down from section until I got to the bottom of the shaft, the doors gave way, and I heard her croon the words every man longs to hear: “First floor. Main lobby.”

It’s no news that queer representation has been an issue in Hollywood. Since the birth of media, the narratives of people like me have been rejected from the big screen in favor of the same love story between a man and a woman being reiterated again and again.

I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I deleted the apps for Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook last week, and let me tell you, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. You know why? Because I realized I was spending more time scrolling and liking than living, and also because as soon as I did, my asshole began to shine brighter than a diamond.